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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28265952">Good Days, Bad Days</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSoliloquy/pseuds/TheSoliloquy'>TheSoliloquy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Threats, others need revolution i guess, some people just need love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:53:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,530</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28265952</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSoliloquy/pseuds/TheSoliloquy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>I hope one day you have the courage to run away from everything that makes you miserable.<br/>-Hayao Miyazaki</p><p> <br/>Mother was having one of those days again.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lord Asriel/Marisa Coulter, Lyra Belacqua &amp; Marisa Coulter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Good Days, Bad Days</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>First time in a long time that I've written:<br/>- a one-shot<br/>- in past tense.</p><p>Forgive me any mistakes and please feed me your thoughts. There's plenty of angst in this fandom already, I just like to jump on bandwagons</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>I hope one day you have the courage to run away from everything that makes you miserable. </p><p>
  <b>HAYAO MIYAZAKI</b>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Mother was having one of <em> those </em>days again.</p><p>“Note it down, Pan.”</p><p>Lyra'd spent years learning to decipher her mother’s moods with all of the scientific processes of a scholar. She’d filled a notebook and all, even presented her findings to Father- and then again to Stelmaria when it turned out he hadn’t been listening.</p><p>Her ‘control’ was a calm day.</p><p>Mother and Father would disappear for work and Lyra was free to do whatever she wished, wherever she wished, with whoever she wished. Oftentimes she forgot she had parents. </p><p>(Here, in her presentation, Stelmaria would snort and warn her never to tell her mother).</p><p>The good days were fewer each year.</p><p>Mother would smile over breakfast, and work calmly in her study, and curl against Father in front of the fire, and laugh at Lyra’s stories and not mind a bit when they were embellished just a little. Sometimes she might be corralled into a walk around the estate with Lyra, and then Father would join, too, and lecture the both of them on the importance of walking boots and exercise and <em> really, Marisa, you spend too much time at your desk </em>.</p><p>Once, Mother pushed him into the stream and cackled until dinnertime.</p><p>(Lyra made a point to note down every one of those moments, precious as they were to her. When normality returned, the screaming and the duplicity, she read them aloud to Pan until she could pretend they were happy).</p><p>The days Father was home were the best- even if they spent too much time in their bedroom making all sorts of strange noises. He was always showering Mother with affection, gruff man that he was, manipulative, poisonous woman that she was. Even when they argued, great screaming matches that rattled chandeliers and sent maids scuttling, Father loved her. Lyra saw Mother slap him once, only then to be wrapped in his powerful arms, cursing against his chest, the golden monkey swooning between Stelmaria’s jaws.</p><p>(It helped, too, that Mother let Lyra away with murder so long as Father’s hand was in hers).</p><p>And so Lyra’s notebook was filled. </p><p>The days Mother was too much, and the days she wasn’t enough, and the days things weren’t going Mother’s way so of course Lyra and Father must go to sleep with sore throats and bruised spirits. And, heavens forbid, the days of emotional whiplash, in which she was all of the above from one moment to the next.</p><p>But on days like <em> these </em>, Lyra was never sure how to act.</p><p>She decided eventually that Mother needed looking after.</p><p>It’d been a week of build-up, after all, and Lyra wasn’t sure how much more self-isolation she could take now that Roger was back at Oxford and the Gyptians had gone for winter. The quicker Mother felt better, the quicker Lyra could get back to cavorting around the manor.</p><p>Besides, even if buried beneath boredom, a large part of her worried more with every second of Mother’s silence. It wasn’t wrong to worry, was it?</p><p>“She looked like she was going to cry,” Pan whispered after they took Mother tea in her study, “Maybe we should have taken cake, as well.”</p><p>Thorold helped Lyra rifle through the kitchen cupboards for camomile, commiserated with her when they found naught but mouldy madeira cake, and barely- <em> just </em> barely- convinced Lyra that Lady Belacqua might like some biscuits instead of something, err, homemade.</p><p>But when lunchtime came around Mother was no longer in her study and Lyra found herself tottering around the manor with a full tray.</p><p>“D’you think she’s gone, Pan?” Lyra peered into another empty room.</p><p>Pan shifted into a moth and flitted out of sight for a moment.</p><p>“No, her purse is still here… Whose coat is this?”</p><p>“Won’t be Father’s, he’s in his workshop.” Lyra huffed and set down the tray, taking a biscuit for herself as she followed, “Oh.”</p><p>The coat was far too lavish for any of Father’s friends but with no pin to signify the magisterium. Rather than risk being caught rifling through pockets, Lyra doubled back and crept through the hallways, knowing now that her Mother had a guest, and wondering if it might explain today’s mood.</p><p>It was in the receiving room she found them, lured by her mother’s souring tone.</p><p>“My <em> daughter </em> is no concern of yours, Carlo.” Her mother hissed, “You will not lay a hand on her, you will not go <em> anywhere near </em>her or so help me I will see you rotting in an unmarked grave-”</p><p>“Funny.” Came a stranger’s silken voice, and Lyra peered as discreetly as she could at who would dare interrupt her mother, “Your husband said much the same regarding you, and yet here I am.”</p><p> Whoever it was, he was not as large as Lyra’s father, and not half as brave or daring if his dæmon was anything to go by.</p><p>“Asriel knows I need no protection.”</p><p>“Do you not? I heard whispers of an audience with the Cardinal, Marisa, it is too late to pretend you are still in control.”</p><p>“I <em> am </em> in control-”</p><p>“Your husband is a heretic and your child was born of sin.” The stranger snapped, and Lyra’s Mother recoiled as if struck,  “You would do well to obey<em> , Lady Belaqua, </em> and give them what they want <em> . </em>Or the Magisterium will take it all.”</p><p>There was a tense silence broken only by the grunts of the golden monkey. Lyra retreated back behind the door, suddenly afraid of being seen. She could hear her mother panting with rage.</p><p><em>“</em>Get <em>out</em>. Before I have you shot.”</p><p>The man chuckled darkly, “Like Edward, I suppose?”</p><p>A crash came then, a shatter of glass followed by the thud of footsteps, and Lyra lept back and fled from the hallway quick as a shadow.</p><p>She spent the next few minutes pressed against the first floor bannister, listening out for trouble and Pan hovering in the air below. It wasn’t long before the stranger disappeared through the manor door with a slam. Lyra counted her breath until she reached a hundred and then, with Pan scurrying behind in monkey form, she crept back down the stairs and to her mother.</p><p>The crash had been from a fallen vase. </p><p>Mother was slumped in an armchair staring at its million pieces when Lyra entered, the golden monkey chittering softly at her feet.</p><p>Her hair was carefully coiffed, still, nails polished to a black sheen and blue dress as bright as her eyes. But there were wrinkles in the facade. Lyra could spot them with all her practice: sallow skin, dull eyes ringed in shadow, creases in the perfect image.</p><p>“Mother?” Lyra called softly. </p><p>There was no response. </p><p>She had never seen Mother look so absent, not ever in any of her moods. It scared her. Another step and another, and only when Lyra’s fingers brushed her arm did her mother startle.</p><p>“Mother?”</p><p>Her mother smiled suddenly, a tremulous thing that steadied with a blink as she took Lyra’s hands in hers.</p><p>“Lyra, darling.” She stroked a soft hand down her cheek, “Careful where you step, little one, I’ve made a bit of a mess. Did you need something?”</p><p>Lyra was suddenly unsure of what to say.</p><p>“N-no, err, I brought some tea and biscuits... I thought you might like some camomile. But then I heard a crash so I came to see if you were alright.”</p><p>That was the wrong thing to say, she decided, because Mother’s smile trembled.</p><p>“Oh, my sweet girl.” She cooed, “Always looking after your mother. I’m quite alright, it was only a silly accident. Run along and fetch your father for me, will you?”</p><p>And really, Lyra should have known better than to question Mother- not when it was one of <em> those </em>days, and all she had to do was run along to make the day run a little smoother.</p><p>But a strange man had threatened her family and upset her mother.</p><p>And Lyra was nothing if not impertinent.</p><p>“Who was that man?” She asked, “What was he saying about me?”</p><p>The stream behind the manor was so small and shallow it hardly rose above the gravel, and sometimes in winter Lyra would break through the ice and watch it freeze right back over, quick as a breath. </p><p>Much the same happened to her mother’s face the moment those words left Lyra’s mouth.</p><p>“Were you eavesdropping, Lyra?”</p><p>“I didn’t mean to.”</p><p>“What have I told you about lying?” Her mother’s voice was tight, fingers biting into Lyra’s chin to hold her still. “What did you hear?”</p><p>Lyra pulled away with a scowl, feeling guilty for no good reason.</p><p>“You were talking about me, ‘course I had to listen!”</p><p>“That does <em> not </em>excuse eavesdropping and you very well know that.” Mother stood suddenly and paced away and back, agitated and brimming with nervous energy, and then she crouched in front of Lyra and clutched painfully at her arms, “I need you to tell me what you heard, Lyra. Now!”</p><p>“The-the Cardinal is angry with you, and the Magisterium don’t much like me or Father, and- Mother, you’re <em> hurting me </em>.”</p><p><em> “ </em> What <em> else, </em> Lyra <em> ?” </em></p><p>“Nothing, I swear!”</p><p>Mother took Lyra’s face in her hands. “Don’t mention a word of this to your father, do you hear me?”</p><p>“Why not?” A thought occurred to Lyra and she stopped struggling. “Who’s Edward?”</p><p>Mother let go of her. </p><p>“Nobody. He was no one. An old friend.” She stood and haphazardly smoothed the wrinkles from her dress, “Run along now, Lyra. I have work to do.”</p><p>“Does Father know him?”</p><p>“No. Yes. What did I <em> just </em>tell you to do?”</p><p>“I’m going to ask him.” Lyra whirled around to leave, but no sooner had she taken a step had a sudden force thrown her from her feet and down to the floor in a tangle of limbs.</p><p>“Lyra!”</p><p>It was Pan’s voice that cried out this time, in panic, and immediately after the shock faded her mother’s voice echoed.</p><p>“Lyra.”</p><p>Lyra turned to see the golden monkey loosening his grip from around Pan’s throat. Her mother was frozen in place behind them, mouth agape.</p><p>“Lyra.” She breathed, “Oh, my dear one, I’m sorry-”</p><p>She started forward, arms outstretched, but Lyra cringed in fear. There was no anger in the woman’s face anymore; even the monkey began to shrink, black face flitting between the two of them. Her mother staggered back with a gasp and fell down onto the broken glass, bare knees and all, trembling like a tree in a gale. The golden monkey crept closer in comfort, but was met by Mother with a backhand so brutal it threw him into a nearby table. </p><p>Lyra never knew why her mother held such disdain for her own dæmon. Father could never explain it to her.</p><p>But now, as the monkey whimpered and watched, as Mother crumpled inward and began to sob, great heaving sobs no liar could fake, as her perfect, beautiful hands coiled into the shards of glass and squeezed until jagged edges cut into soft skin, Lyra began to understand.</p><p>And she knew then why Father showered Mother with such love.</p><p>Lyra surged forward and took her mother into her arms.</p><p>“Forgive me.” Mother wept. Her body was trembling with the force of her cries. “Lyra, my love, please, <em> I </em> didn’t- <em> I didn’t mean it. </em>I-I’d never hurt you, Lyra.”</p><p>She pushed Mother’s face into the crook of her neck and squeezed her close, just as Mother would do if Lyra were upset.</p><p>“Mama. Mama, stop. Let go.”</p><p>There was a soft crunch as her mother dropped the glass and wrapped her arms around Lyra, bloody hands grasping at the girl’s shirt. Lyra could feel the damp of Mother’s tears, and the hot breath stuttering against her skin with every sob and wheeze.</p><p>“Shh.” She was crying too, now, fat ugly tears rolling into Mother’s hair. “I’m sorry, mama. I shouldn’t have asked.”</p><p>A little while passed that way, Lyra holding her mother, her mother weeping and pleading, until footsteps came from behind and her Father strode in, grim-faced, Stelmaria ridden by the golden monkey. She hadn’t even realised the monkey had gone.</p><p>“Marisa.” Father said, and Lyra had never seen so harsh a man look so gentle. He pulled Mother away and lifted her, limp, into his arms. “Lyra, go and fetch bandages from Thorold.”</p><p>Lyra did as told without question, brushing the glass from her trousers as she hurried through the house.</p><p>When she arrived at her parents’ room, however, not five minutes later, bandages in hand, she paused. Her mother was still crying, but softly, ragged breathing and stuttering hiccups.</p><p>“Breathe, my love.” Father was saying. “I have you.”</p><p>Lyra peeked around the door. He was sitting on their bed, Mother held against him, her poor torn hands cradled in his.</p><p>“I don’t know what to do, Asriel.”</p><p> “Then tell me. Let me help.”</p><p>But her mother only shook her head and wept harder.</p><p>Lyra sat hidden by the door for a long time, long enough to hear Mother quieten, and for her backside to grow sore against the hard floor. Mother’s blood was drying on her shirt. It was strange. She couldn’t recall ever feeling like this before, sad and angry and numb all at once. Is this what Mother felt? Lyra couldn’t move from the weight of it yet her mother had lifted it for weeks.</p><p>Finally she was roused from her stupor by Stelmaria, who nudged open the door with her great head.</p><p>“Come, child.” She nuzzled Pan and nipped at Lyra’s clothes.</p><p>Her mother was asleep now, curled atop the bedcovers while Father sat on the edge. He turned to Lyra and huffed.</p><p>“Did you go to London for those?” There was no bite behind his usual gruffness.</p><p>“Is she asleep?”</p><p>“Yes. I gave her a little something to help.” He nodded towards an empty glass on the bedside table, then reached to take the medicine kit from Lyra and began to carefully clean the cuts on Mother’s palms. </p><p>Lyra inched forward and peered at her mother’s face, puffy and reddened with tears but slack with sleep. The golden monkey was folded into Stelmaria’s breast on the far side of the room.</p><p>“Are you hungry?” Her father asked suddenly, and Lyra realised they’d all missed dinner. She shook her head. “You’d best be off to bed then, Lyra. Your mother will be alright.”</p><p>Lyra didn’t have it in her to argue. Truth be told, she was exhausted. </p><p>She kissed Father’s stubbled cheek goodnight, and leant forward to press her lips against Mother’s temple. She could practically feel her Father’s intense gaze.</p><p>He stopped her just as she got to the door.</p><p>“What happened?” He asked, “And you had best tell the truth, child.”</p><p>For a long moment Lyra was stuck in place. She looked between her parents, and made up her mind.</p><p>“A man from the Magisterium came.”</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“He threatened us.”</p><p>“<em> Us? </em>”</p><p>Lyra nodded. By the fire, Stelmaria began to growl. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<em>fin?</em>
</p>
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